The Trouble With Trouble
by MistressMarvel
Summary: The war was over, much to everyone's surprise. The question was: What did they do now? Awkward confrontations, fumbling friendships, and confusing romantic gestures all boiling into a heap of trouble for everyone involved. (Various pairings) Future suggestive content
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So I've had this typed out for awhile and only recently did I figure out where exactly I wanted to go with it besides write a humorus (Hopefully?) story for the masses. I tried to stay away from major crack and completely craziness and stick with the awkward. :) Various pairings, fumbling friendships, awkward romantic advances, and two factions trying their hardest to get on with life without a war: It's gonna be **trouble**._

* * *

_What we've got here—_

It was the oddest thing. There were many ways to describe the situation they were all in. But the best word for it was odd. The war, everything, it was _odd_. Well, it should be noted that it was now known as the, for lack of creativity and originality, ex-war. It wasn't necessarily the most descriptive of titles, but then again no one really knew what had been the major cause that ended it all. And none of them knew exactly why they didn't know. It hadn't ended via an enormous battle that left one side victorious over the other. There wasn't _exactly _a peace treaty that was signed. There were no terms discussed, no promises made, none of the usual actions taken to end a war mutually or not. Both sides had just come to an agreement—they were tired of fighting.

Megatron was tired of losing, the Decepticons were tired of going hungry, and the Autobots were tired of using up energy that could go to rebuilding Cybertron. As such they were all on a tentative cease fire that they wanted to make permanent if only Megatron would agree to certain terms and actually talk with Optimus Prime instead of stubbornly ignoring his hails. It was a little complicated. And slightly _different?_

Okay, it was just the weirdest occurrence ever, but no one was actually complaining about it. It was just incredibly odd and, well, to mechs who had been fighting for millennia, it was kind of awkward. What did you do now? They wanted to return to Cybertron, but a treaty hadn't been established yet so they couldn't just leave. It wasn't so simple, so the big question was: what did they do now?

Battles had ceased, plots had dwindled to nothing more than one of the cone heads prank calling Red Alert and sending the poor security mech into a frenzy about not knowing who Seymour Butts was and why anyone would be calling for someone with such a name and how it was all a plot to get more information from The Ark despite the shaky cease fire going on. He would run around screaming about Seymour Butts and had no clue as to why the others weren't as upset over it as he was. Or why many of his fellow bots laughed at him behind their servos as he did this.

The leaders of each faction (well, mostly Optimus Prime) were in discussions for a treaty that would leave them both satisfied and grant them all forever and ever happiness that Megatron just couldn't seem to agree too no matter how tired of fighting he was. Optimus hailed the Nemesis every day and every day Megatron would pretend his communicator wasn't working or pretend he was 'going through a tunnel' and for Optimus to call back again later because he couldn't hear him over all the static from the comm. And every day Optimus would pretend to believe him if only not to start another war that could very well center upon stupidity. It was just so weird.

The humans didn't quite understand it. One moment they're helping the Autobots take down the menace that was the Decepticon army and the next? They're sitting around introducing the bots to 'I love Lucy' and 'The Three Stooges' reruns where the bots would question why the show was in black and white and if it was a function on the television and how did they turn it off because they liked it better when it was in color? It got even stranger when bots and cons would show up at the same place and, having no clue what to do, would just stand there and stare at each other in silence before awkwardly walking away. What else was there to do?

They weren't fighting anymore, so there was no need to pull out their weapons and have a Mexican standoff. Bots like Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who had trigger fingers, were still eager to draw their weapons and have a go for old time's sake but were too afraid of anymore brig time to actually act upon it.

"I tell ya, it's something in the fuel," Cliffjumper would say to his fellow mechs as they gathered around a table in the rec. room sipping their Energon. "It's making everybot crazy." His friends would nod and agree all the while they continued to drink their rations without a care.

Wheeljack and Perceptor were of the mind that some internal wiring was amiss causing the Decepticons to give in easily and for a long lasting war to just abruptly stop on both sides (not that they were complaining). "Probably a contagious glitch that's nestled its way into all of our processors." But nobot was ever checked out nor did they go see Ratchet. Better to stick with the glitch than see the Hatchet, they would all say.

To those like Beachcomber who didn't dig conflict, the now ex-war was the best thing that could have ever happened. And, much to everybot's surprise, would often hail the Decepticons and chat up with the mechs at the communication station. His favorite go-to buddy on the opposite side being Astrotrain who felt too awkward to actually tell the bot to frag off. Or, better yet, he didn't know just how to do it. They weren't fighting anymore and what peace they did have was fragile, no telling what would make the war start up again, so he kept quiet about his discomfort and about the annoying Autobot. It didn't make him feel any better when Beachcomber learned the rotation of the communication station and would call up Astrotrain for a chat every single time the triple changer was on duty. He had begged Soundwave to change his schedule, to give him double patrol duty or monitor duty, but the tape deck always ignored him in favor of _his_ project. Selfish fragger.

There was, surprisingly, a lot of talk between factions. Most of it awkward as Cybertronians who now found themselves seeing each other as just that, Cybertronians, and not Decepticons and Autobots, began conversing civilly with one another. And it was weird. Where before the war Cybertronians would greet one another and talk about their lives and the economy and the weather and the latest cybertronic mix, now they mumbled awkwardly about how 'it hasn't rained in awhile' and 'sure is hot out today' or the favorite 'so how about that Energon'. To which the replies were always, 'yeah'. Some bots, though, were better at conversing than others. Mostly because they tried a little harder.

"So how's it goin' mah mech?" Blaster asked from his position at the communications desk. A large screen before him displaying his sort-of-almost-maybe-not-but-soon friend. He smiled at the other. "Ya been keepin' busy?" Quick to forgive and liking the idea of having another tape deck to converse with made Blaster engage in conversation.

His not-really-friend responded, "Processor: not as stimulated. Things required to accomplish: few."

Blaster chuckled, "Different way of saying you're bored out of you processor. I told ya, Soundwave, ya gotta take up a hobby."

Soundwave shifted in his seat, "Statement repeated. Not understood. Hobby: espionage."

Blaster winced, "Not a whole lot of that goin on now a days, m' I right?" He wondered if Soundwave knew he was fishing. Casting the line and waiting to see if the other sound system would take the Energon bait at the end of his hook. "Not with all this ex-war stuff goin' on. Peace and goodwill and all that." Click click click went his rod as he reeled it in slowly hoping for a nibble.

But Soundwave didn't take the bait. "Blaster: may never know." It was a joke. At least, Blaster hoped it was some odd form of a joke from the other. There was an awkward silence, they had a lot of those, before the Decepticon spoke again. "Query."

"Yeah?" The comm. unit rang, but Blaster let Red Alert get it from his side of the room.

"Blaster: has hobbies?" Soundwave's helm tilted questioningly.

The Autobot's communications officer opened his mouth to answer him but was interrupted by Red Alert's wail of: _"Who is Ivana Tinkle?"_ Blaster looked across the room to see Red Alert yelling into the comm. unit. _"And who is this?! There is no Ivana Tinkle here."_ He paused, _"And stop laughing when I say Ivana Tinkle!"_ The security director began to squirm in place, _"I know it's you Decepticons! You're trying break into The Ark and steal valuable information! I'm on to all of you and your cohorts."_

Blaster and Soundwave watched as Red Alert disconnected the transmission and ran out of the room screaming about a conspiracy between Ivanna Tinkle and Seymour Butts and every single Decepticon over at the Nemesis. "The cone heads seem to be keeping busy," Blaster said with a slight smile.

Soundwave nodded. "Affirmative."

0o0o0o0

Astrotrain fidgeted in his seat as he listened to Beachcomber talk about the wildlife and the geography around The Ark. He didn't like animals or humans or green stuff or this planet, so talking to the Autobot was _difficult_. Not that he wanted to talk to the Autobot. Cuz he didn't. But when Beachcomber seemed oblivious at Astrotrain's attempts at avoiding conversation, the triple changer didn't know what else to do but pretend to care about organics and their organic planet. Blitzwing had told him just to end the communication, but he had already done that the first time the Autobot got annoying. Beachcomber had called back klicks later apologizing for having lost him and then continued to talk about some weird sea animal that breathed through a hole in its head and asked him if he'd seen one. To which his reply had been 'no'.

"What do you think about the composition of—?"  
Astrotrain couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't stand it. "You know, Beachcomber, I heard something pretty interesting a few breems ago, and I've been just _dying_ to tell ya." He had to get rid of the Autobot. And what better way to do that than by distracting him with things he liked.

"Oh?" The Autobot leaned forward in his seat with a large smile on his face. "Do tell, friend."

The triple changer paused at the admission. "Well, I heard that," he stumbled. Okay, so he wasn't as prepared as he should have been. He would have to think of something quick because he hadn't thought it through what he was going to say to actually distract the annoying leech. Beachcomber leaned even closer to the monitor, and suddenly Astrotrain felt a terribly Autobot like emotion. Guilt, he thought to himself, that's what that weird feeling was. _Disgusting_. So he ignored it. He wasn't a slagging Autobot. And he didn't give in to guilt and smiley faced bots who didn't know when to shut the frag up and mind their own business. "Well, Blitzwing was talking about this wildlife preserve—."

"Which one?"

The triple changer fumbled a bit. _Which one? _There was more than one? Why? "Well, uh, the important one. The one from around here." There was one around here, right? Surely there was one around where the Ark was stationed. Right?

Beachcomber looked concerned, "Oaks Bottom?"

"What?" Astrotrain's lingering thoughts on where he was going with the wildlife preserve drifted away at the Autobot's confusing words. "Oak's what?"

"Bottom," Beachcomber clarified. "Oaks Bottom."

The Autobot had finally lost it; at least, that was the thought of Astrotrain. He wasn't making any sense. "Who's oak?" The triple changer scratched at his helm confused.

"Who?" Beachcomber looked just as puzzled as his Decepticon friend.

"Oak," Astrotrain said firmly.

Beachcomber smiled, "Oaks Bottom." To which Astrotrain promptly cut the communication. Slag the Autobot's feelings.

0o0o0o0o

Shockwave was probably even more confused than everybody else. Where once he would ask his Lord to bring Energon to Cybertron and his Lord would oblige greatly, now Megatron slumped on his throne and grimaced at him every time he called. As if the very thought of going out and collecting energy for their planet was the most abhorrent thought imaginable.

"But, my lord, why not?"

Megatron grimaced at the screen which displayed the scientist, "Because we're at a cease fire."

"Perhaps you could just ask—."

Megatron cut the communication.

0o0o0o0o

Beachcomber worriedly hailed Blaster, concerned that he had broken the communication unit he was assigned to. He surely wasn't going to call Red Alert and have the bot wail at him for breaking things while on shift and how he probably did it on purpose and how he was a Decepticon spy, which of course he didn't and he most certainly wasn't. Beachcomber didn't understand why it kept dropping his calls to Astrotrain, and he was worried he was starting to offend the triple changer. He didn't want Astrotrain to think that he was purposefully cutting the communication line between them. Not when he enjoyed talking to the Decepticon so much. Who knew they would have so much in common?

Blaster bustled in with a smile, "What can I do ya for?"

"I'm afraid I might have broken it," the blue and white mech said sheepishly, "it keeps dropping my calls to Astrotrain."

Blaster hummed while leaning over the consol and playing with the controls, "And it's done this a few times already?" Beachcomber nodded. "Well, it's probably not on your end, Beach, I hear Optimus has a hard time getting through to the Nemesis, too. Something 'bout their communication system and under the ocean and all that funk."

The stereo didn't have the spark to tell him that it was probably just Astrotrain cutting the line, not when Beachcomber enjoyed talking to the mech so much (which was weird, but Blaster wasn't one to judge. Not when he had his own con he spoke to on a daily basis).

"I guess you're right; that's probably it." Beachcomber smiled at the stereo bot, "Thanks. You think they know about it?"

"If they don't, then I'll just tell Soundwave 'bout it. I'm sure he can fix it." He was sure there was nothing wrong with either communication lines, and he was 100% positive that Soundwave knew this as well. So he would not be telling the other stereo about it because there was nothing to be done.

Soundwave hailed The Ark expecting to see Blaster behind the main communication station only to be startled by the smiling visage of Beachcomber. He hadn't wanted to talk to the organic loving bot, and, to be honest, Beachcomber made him uncomfortable.

Beachcomber gave the con a wave. "Soundwave, hello—." The Decepticon communications officer cut the comm. line leaving behind a bewildered Beachcomber.

"It really must be broken," Beachcomber whispered to himself.

0o0o0o0o

Optimus Prime stood for the third time that day in front of a monitor hailing Megatron so that they could begin negotiations on a peace treaty that would allow them all to go home permanently to rebuild Cybertron and get on with their lives without a war. But Megatron seemed intent to prolong the game of phone tag they seemed to be playing.

Prime turned to Prowl, "You hailed them?" He asked for a second time.

"Yes," his second responded.

The red and blue semi shifted on his pedes before turning back to Prowl, "Are you certain?"

Prowl frowned at his commanding officer, the leader of the Autobots, "Yes."

"He isn't responding to our hails," he told Prowl. The second in command bit back the sarcastic response that Megatron never responded to their hails and when he did, he pretended he couldn't hear them or that his communications were down.

"I'm sure he's not doing so on purpose, Optimus."

0o0o0o0o0o

Under the ocean, Megatron sat upon his throne watching his comm. unit go off for the third time that cycle. Optimus wanted to talk to him, and, out of pure spite, Megatron refused to answer. Just because they were trying to stop the war completely did _not_ mean that he was at Optimus Prime's beck and call. He had important things to do. Important weapon designs that would never be put to use to demand from the constructicons. He had a lot of Starscream punching to do. _A lot_ of Starscream punching to do. And he had troops to scramble. And he had that blasted Astrotrain's complaining to ignore. And he had troops to scramble a second time, perhaps even a third. He was very busy—Prime could wait.

He slumped down in his throne as the comm. unit went off for the fourth time that cycle.

–_is a failure to communicate._

* * *

_A/N: Love it? Hate it? Wish I were dead? I can take it (probably not the dead part..) So drop me a line and let me know!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Houston,_

* * *

Jazz didn't know what to make of the ex-war. He'd spent over half his life fighting and spying, and the other half he had been on the wrong side of the law with everything from illegal distribution of Energon _goodies _to petty thievery to grand scale thievery and then back down to petty thievery. So the sudden peace and the lack of spy detail was different, but not completely unwanted. Jazz now had more time to dedicate to expanding his music collection and reorganizing them. Separating the Cybertronian mixes from the ever growing human tracks that he enjoyed listening to, he even began to combine some of the two into luscious beats that he couldn't wait to dance to.

So he didn't mind the lull. He truly hoped it became permanent. Maybe then Prowl would finally take a break and relax like he had been trying to convince his lover to do for a while—maybe even dance for him, too. But knowing Prowl, it was unlikely. He was already trying to keep the peace between Optimus and Megatron every time their Prime tried to hail the Nemesis with nothing to show for it but phony messages about the communications system not working and how he had a bad connection.

Jazz leaned back in his seat in front of Teletran-1 while bobbing his head in time to a mix he made himself—a hybrid between a fast paced Cybertronian beat and a popular human beat that was slightly slower with a bit more bass. His pedes kicked in time with the beat while they were propped up on the console. He was supposed to be on monitor duty, but there was nothing to really look out for anymore, so what did it matter if he slacked off a bit? He really hoped Red Alert wouldn't come barreling in and see him like this—he'd never hear the end of it. _Don't put your pedes on the console and aren't you supposed to be watching the monitor for Decepticon attacks?_

Not with how much Red worried about the security and the care of all the computer consoles on the base. Jazz offlined his optic visor and focused on the sounds coming from his internal stereo while his pedes tapped away at the top of Teletran's consol. He wasn't hurting anything.

The saboteur never even noticed when one of his pedes hit a rather sensitive button on the key pad which sent Teletran-1 into a spiral of commands before bringing up a warning text.

_Termination of outside communications. Communication System will be offline until next manual reboot: continue? Y or N_

Had he not had his stereo so loud, Jazz might have heard Teletran's warning. But the spy always did like the blast his music on audial busting levels. As such, Teletran's voiced warning went ignored as well as the warning text displayed on the screen.

A special mixture of beats played, and Jazz tapped his pedes even harder and faster effectively confirming the termination with just the slip of his tapping pede.

_Communication system shut down commencing_

The mech was too lost into his music to even realize the ramifications of placing his pedes on top of the console while it was online—though he had been warned repeatedly. And he certainly didn't notice when the entire screen went blank sporting a black monitor, before a few words began blinking. Green against black, they waited for the next command.

_Awaiting manual reboot__

_0o0o0o0o_

Red Alert was in a better mood than he had been in quite some time. For the last few hours or so there hadn't been any calls for a Seymour Butts and Ivana Tinkle, and that was good. His glitch was under control at the moment, too; that was also good. Inferno had calmed him, saying that Seymour and Ivana were just jokes, and that he shouldn't take it seriously—so he tried to relax. It was odd, but he did try. They were at peace, Inferno had said, a cease fire that was turning, slowly, into a permanent situation. All was good, his mate had told him. He needn't be concerned anymore.

But, even with his glitch currently under control, he couldn't help but wonder exactly _why_ he wasn't getting any strange comms, or why everything seemed so uneventful. He knew it was just his paranoia creeping up his struts and tingling the back of his processor, but he couldn't really help it. Where was all the action? Where were those strange calls? Why was everything so quiet? He tried to control himself. He cycled his intakes a few times before relaxing in his pair's hold. For his sake and Inferno's, he would ignore it. Nothing was wrong.

Everything was just as it was supposed to be.

0o0o0o0o

Megatron drummed his digits along the arms of his throne in agitation. He was being ignored. And if there was just something he couldn't stand for, it was someone ignoring him—the slag maker, the bringer of destruction, the leader of the Decepticons! The great catalyst that started the war!

_Optimus_ was ignoring **him**. How dare that slag sucking, so called Primus blessed Autobot ignore him. Who did he think he was? Fragging Primus?

"Hail the Ark again," he growled to Starscream who made a face at him before trying to contact the Autobots as he had been told to do. But it was the same as it had been for a while. Nothing but silence on the other end.

"We're still not getting a response," came Starscream's smug comment, and Megatron had to restrain himself from getting up and throwing the cocky seeker out of the first air lock so that he could watch as the arrogant seeker sank to the Ocean floor just beneath the Nemesis. "Shall I try another time?"

Megatron's digits dug into the arms of the throne leaving huge dents in their wake, "Hail them again." He was in no mood for any of this nonsense. At least when Megatron hadn't wanted to talk, he would just pretend like there was something wrong with the communication line.

He stood quickly and took great pleasure in seeing Starscream flinch a bit in paranoid preparation for an oncoming beating. He towered over his second, frowning with distaste, "And you will keep hailing them until they respond."

Starscream sputtered, optics wide and bright in apparent shock."B-but what if they don't?!"

At this, the former warlord grinned maliciously, "You will continue to hail them until a response has been made." He moved closer causing the seeker to back up quickly, "You will not move from this spot until they have been successfully reached."

"And what do I say once the connection's been completed?"

Megatron chuckled, "Once a connection's been made and Prime has answered in _person_, then you will hang up." And with those words out, the Decepticon Leader stormed out of the room leaving only his second staring in despair after him at the order put upon him by his Lord.

"Hang _up?_" Was the incredulous cry that echoed throughout the room.

It received no response.

0o0o0o0o

Astrotrain was having the most peaceful and non aggravation induced comm. cycle he had ever had. It was almost as if all his troubles had been deleted from the databanks—never having existed in the first place. There had been no activity on the monitors, and even better was that Beachcomber hadn't hailed him to talk about stupid slag that he didn't care about. There were no awkward questions, no annoying facts about earth, no stupid smiles, no bubbly laughter, no—Astrotrain took his fist and pounded it into his helm repeatedly. _Stop it!_

Stupid Autobot and his stupid Fragging Autobot feelings. Astrotrain was _not_ lonely. Peace and quiet was just what he wanted. It was the only thing he wanted.

Well, except for a good frag; he could go for one of those, too. But peace and quiet was definitely second on the list of things he wanted. This was the best thing that could have ever happened—silence. The triple changer stared at the blank monitor and drummed his digits along the console. Any moment now, that stupid Autobot was going to appear, causing him to have to stop everything so that he could talk to the laid back mech just so he wouldn't hurt any feelings. That was part of the reason why he wasn't getting too comfortable. Because it was gonna end up happening.

Any moment, now, it was going to happen.

His digits danced along the spaces between the buttons as he waited for the inevitable. Yup, any moment now he would be hailed by the annoying blue and white mech and have his audios chatted offline about the ozone and—and animals that breathed through holes in their heads. All things he most certainly didn't want to hear about.

"Any minute now that fragger's gonna interrupt my work cycle," Astrotrain growled out to no one. A few nanoklicks went by uninterrupted and the drumming of his digits against the console became louder. "Yup," he cleared his intakes, "any minute now."

He was glad for the silence. He was! Astrotrain, the choo choo brain, was _**happy**_that there were no interruptions. He had all this work to get done, any distractions were unwelcome. He had to stare at the monitor and make sure there weren't any . . . well, he didn't really know what he was looking for in the monitor. But he was sure it was important! He had to make sure those fragging swimming organics didn't swim too close to . . . something. And he was pretty sure that something was important to the day to day operations of the base.

Astrotrain had stuff to do. Important stuff.

The clicking of his digits only grew more agitated.

"Any klick now, it's gonna happen." More minutes ticked by as he stared at the monitor drumming his digits on the console even louder than before, practically banging them against the metal of the console. His optics strayed from the images being displayed on the monitor to the small bulb that would signal an incoming call. Soon Astrotrain had forgone even glancing at the monitor in favor of glaring at the unlit bulb with complete disdain.

"Fragging, fragger who sucks slag in the _pit!_" His servos pounded hard against the console. "Where the frag are you, you hyped up glitch?!" Astrotrain pressed his face against the console and his optic placed firmly against the little unlit bulb that was his aggravation.

0o0o0o0o

Beachcomber sat at his console staring in exasperation at the buttons that refused to cooperate with him. Well, it wasn't really the buttons so much as it was the entire comm. line. He had been trying for an entire joor to contact Astrotrain on the Nemesis, but nothing he did seemed to be working. The monitors were working. Beachcomber could plainly see the surrounding desert. But the comms. It wasn't his fault.

He took his helm into his servos and grimaced. If he called Red Alert he'd be blamed for the problem, and he didn't think he could handle the security director glitching on him in mid rant. _Sabotage, sabotage!_ Beachcomber groaned as he helplessly began to push various buttons on the console hoping that they'd somehow make the communications come back online.

He flicked a switch, flinched as an alarm went off, and hurriedly flicked it back off. Okay, so that wasn't going to work. He'd call Blaster in, but he had already done that so many times before that he was afraid the stereo bot was starting to get annoyed with him.

Beachcomber nervously fidgeted in his seat, not sure what he was going to do about the situation he found himself in. _Not good, not good, not good._ His shift was almost over and soon Brawn would take his place. Brawn was smart, right? He could, he could take care of something like this? Beachcomber didn't have to really say anything about it, just pretend that everything was fine, and then Brawn would take over and, being a smart bot, would figure out what was wrong and fix it.

Beachcomber was smart, too, but he was field smart. All this equipment made him feel clumsy. Yes, the best bet was to leave it to Brawn who had the next shift. He was smart, he'd figure it out.

He was smart, right?

0o0o0o0o

"Hey, Sunstreaker!" Brawn called from down the hall, "Sunstreaker!" The minibot hurried down the hall while the yellow twin waited for him with a sour expression.

"What?" Sunstreaker's arms were crossed over his overly shiny chassis. "I got places to be."

"I'll give ya this whole can of primer and gloss if you take my communications shift," Brawn began quickly. "I've got plans with Cliffjumper and don't want to be stuck in the chair."

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, "Just one can? For monitor duty?" He cycled his vents loudly in a dismissive snort.

"Two cans of primer, a can of gloss, and that tin of specialty wax that's hard as the pit to get." Brawn was getting desperate. "C'mon, Sunstreaker, I know communications duty is the slag, but I can't miss this."

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics before huffing. "All right, fine. Two cans of primer, one can of gloss, and that specialty wax. And don't you dare forget to pay your dues." Then the temperamental bot was off down the hall, changing course so that he could make it to the communications room and take the shift that was supposed to be for Brawn.

The things he did to look better than the rest of the scrapheaps here in the Ark.

Along the way, he passed the rec room where he grabbed himself a cube before he had to sit on his aft for a Joor or two. He made it to the Comm. room and saw Beachcomber whose optics widened in shock when he saw the yellow twin march in and plop himself down behind the console he had just vacated.

"Isn't Brawn supposed to be on shift?" Beachcomber asked as he fidgeted in his spot where he stood in front of the now slouching Sunstreaker.

"He couldn't make it, asked me to take his place." He slurped at his Energon.

Beachcomber glanced between the console and Sunstreaker nervously before forcing a smile on his faceplates. "Okay, then, Sunstreaker, happy sittin'." And then he booked it out of the comm. room leaving Sunstreaker to roll his optics after him.

A few klicks went by with Sunstreaker becoming bored out of his processor. He began to tap his half empty cube against the console in boredom. Tap, tap, tap, tap—crash. Cursing, Sunstreaker sat up and began to try to wipe the Energon that had spilled from his cube off of the console. He panicked when it seemed to seep into the console's gaps where the buttons were placed and frantically looked around for a cloth to wipe it, first from his paint job, and then from the console.

"Slag," he cursed while searching the room. "I really hope this doesn't mess with the fragging thing."

0o0o0o0o

Blaster took over for Jazz who was so deep into his music files that he almost crashed into the wall on his way out. Blaster had laughed when his friend had shot him a sheepish grin before turning the tunes down.

When the stereo bot looked up at Teletran-1's monitor he froze.

_Awaiting manual reboot_ Flashed on the screen in green lettering on the large monitor. What in the slag?

What had Jazz done? Blaster sighed as he could only imagine the saboteur propping his pedes onto Teletran's console and kicking to a fast paced beat. He ran a servo down his faceplates. Well, he would have to fix this, then. Blaster began to start the manual reboot.

_System will be offline for approximately two joors. Continue? Y or N?_

He shrugged, not thinking it would be that big of a deal, and confirmed the action.

* * *

_We have a problem._

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry, been doin' Nanowrimo. Still doing it, just took a break to pop this chapter in. Next Chapter is where the crazy begins. _**


End file.
